


the edge of a precipice

by humanveil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Mark (Harry Potter), Gen, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22798336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: “It’s risky, isn’t it?”
Relationships: Regulus Black/Severus Snape
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47
Collections: Poe Prompts





	the edge of a precipice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BunnyBopper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BunnyBopper/gifts).



> in response to the edgar allan poe themed prompt _‘ **the imp of the perverse:** temptation, risk, instinct.’_ title comes from said short story.
> 
> originally posted [here.](https://sistersblack.tumblr.com/post/190908319762/severus-and-regulus-for-the-imp-of-the-perverse) enjoy!

Severus sits, slouched, his sleeves rolled and head tilted back. Fingers, not his own, trace the length of his left arm: pads soft, unaccustomed to hard work. A nail catches on the Mark: wound fresh, barely healed. He hisses.

Regulus pulls his hand away. “Sorry,” he says. Smiles. It’s lopsided, like he doesn’t really know _how._ Then, “Did it hurt?”

Severus snorts. “It’s a burn, Black. What do you think?”

Regulus ignores the question. “Don’t call me that,” he says instead: absentminded. Like a reflex. Severus hears what remains unspoken. That quiet, _It reminds me of my brother_.

He sighs.

* * *

“It’s risky, isn’t it?” Regulus says. “I mean, if we get caught—”

A laugh cuts him off: loud, grating. Rosier’s grin twisted and deadly. “What are you,” he asks him, “ _six?_ Scared _Mummy_ will get upset?”

He looks at Severus, as if expecting something. Backup, most likely. But Severus remains impassive: _watching_. He stares at Regulus, at the scowl he sends Rosier, at the way his eyes flicker, the way his mouth turns, the way he takes hold of his left arm.

The way he battles with temptation: that latent longing for the wicked mirrored in all of them.

* * *

Regulus’ scream is instinctive: mouth open even before the Dark Lord has finished the spell. Severus watches, fixated on the way he shakes: head dropped, hair a mess. His sleeve is cuffed, perfect, _perfect_ skin scarred black.

_(Beautiful, if destructive.)_

He wonders if this is what he’d looked like.

“When you said it _hurt,_ ” Regulus says, after, once they’re alone. He’s glaring, but even then. Even then: Severus can see the remnants of adrenaline; the way eyes sparkle with o _pportunity._

He smirks. _Teasing._ “Want me to kiss it better?”

Regulus’ glare deepens. “Bastard,” he says.

It almost sounds like, _yes._


End file.
